Le Château
by Dark Puck
Summary: A blatant self insert in which I find myself in the Merovingian's Château. The tricky part, of course, is SURVIVING this little trip... T for eventual language.
1. Chapter 1

**Le Château  
1  
Arrival**

* * *

i woke up cold and sore, and assumed that I'd somehow managed to fall out of bed without hitting my head on my bedside table during the night. Muttering a curse under my breath, I reached up and over my head to feel around on said table for my glasses, only to find that, not only were my glasses not there, my bedside table wasn't, either. It took a few seconds for my sleep-baffled brain to process that information and come to the logical conclusion: I'd slept-walked somehow.

Fine, then; I'd go back to my room and go to sleep.

Annoyed, I opened my eyes to a big blur, and realised that there was more blur than normal. A lot more blur. By squinting and peering around, I managed to eventually ascertain that I was nowhere near my room, or even my home. I stumbled towards a big, pale green blur and glared suspiciously at it as it came into focus.

It was depicting a battle of sorts; my hand traced along some of the lines as I wondered at its familiarity, then I found the giant 'M' in the centre of it. I did know this 'blur'; it had spent a month as my computer desktop.

I had either somehow wound up on a discarded _Matrix: Reloaded _set, or I was in the Merovingian's _château._

I desperately prayed it was the former.

I heard a door starting to open and flung myself out of the line of sight, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My prayers had not been answered. I had somehow landed in the _château_, home of most of my favourite characters from the Matrix Trilogy. This was a very bad thing, as they all happened to be highly dangerous and probably weren't too fond of humans.

Despite my joking claims to the contrary, I am quite human.

Frightened, I curled up in my little nook and waited to find out if the Matrix fanon about the werewolves being able to smell fear was true.

This was not to be, as it was not werewolves who found me.

No, it wasn't the Twins either; if they had found me, the odds are pretty good that I'd be six feet under. The program who discovered me was a white-clad Asian man with longish dark hair – about the same length as mine, if I remember _Reloaded_ correctly – the program I'd named 'Tiger' for fanfiction purposes. Of course, to my eyes at the time, he was pretty much a blur of white.

I didn't hear him coming. One minute, I was trying to calm myself down, hiding my face against my knees; the next I'd been hauled to my feet by a strong – and painful – grip on my hair. I was unable to keep from crying out in pain and fear as my hair was released and the grip found my neck. I experienced a mind-shattering, brain-numbing fear when I realised my captor was wearing white, then I noticed that my feet were still touching the ground – barely. Had the person grabbing my neck been one of the Twins, my feet would have been dangling off the ground.

"Another human," my captor said in a curious tone, examining my frightened face. He grinned dangerously; perhaps fortunately, my highly impaired vision was unable to confirm my theory that he was a vampire. His grip on my neck tightened as he added, "No doubt another so-called fangirl of the Twins. I suppose they'd prefer to deal with you themselves."

Blinding panic got my voice working. "No, please!" I begged him. "Don't take me to them!"

"Oho, what have we here?" he asked, sounding extremely amused. "Could it be that a fangirl exists who properly fears the Twins?" I nodded rapidly, and he let me rest my full weight on the floor, though still holding me against the wall by my neck. "You don't think they'll rescue you from the mean, nasty ol' Frenchman?"

This time I shook my head; why would the Twins rescue me? As far as I was concerned, if I ever met the Twins, only one thing would cross their minds when they saw me: _prey._ "There's hope for you yet, girlie," he said, seeming to smirk as he added, "although your arrival here indicates fangirlism for at least one resident of the _Château_… so, who is it? Or should that be 'who are they'?"

I hesitated, and all humour left his tone as he easily cut off my air intake. "I could easily kill you, brat," he hissed, "so I suggest you answer me." He allowed me breath again, and I sucked in air gratefully. "Now… who is it you fangirl?"

I was dead.

Frightened, I quietly answered, "You, Abel, the program who had the Tommy gun, and… and the Merovingian." I had a good feeling that mentioning Seraph, whom I fangirled above all others, would get me killed.

A dark blur on his face rose; I assumed he was raising an eyebrow. "Me."

I nodded.

"Do you even know my name?"

"No," I replied, shaking, my tone tinged with old frustration. "I've looked everywhere for yours and Seth's names; meanwhile, though, I… gave you names…."

His face moved closer to mine, bringing it into focus for the first time. He looked amused again. "You gave me a name. Fair enough."

Before I knew what was happening, he'd dealt me a sharp blow to the head, knocking me unconscious.

* * *

_Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my attempt to do a self-insert the right way. Please keep in mind that this version of myself is me as I was when I was eighteen years old. Therefore, this me has no knowledge of anything we've learned from the Matrix Online._


	2. Chapter 2

Le Château  
2  
Trouble

* * *

I woke up cold and with the mother of all headaches. Squinting, I looked around and managed to establish that I was in a holding cell of some kind. Remembering where I was, I found that I wasn't sure if this was meant to hold me or protect me.

I shivered and rubbed at my bare arms; it was too bloody cold in there for a girl to be wearing thin smiley-face pyjamas.

For lack of anything better to do, I began feeling around the cell, hoping for a blanket, glasses, anything to either keep me warm or allow me to see.

Nothing. Damn it.

I retreated to a corner and leaned against it, waiting for… something to happen.

And something did.

Without warning, my world _jerked_, slamming me with a nauseating bout of vertigo. Unable to hold my balance, I fell to all fours; then my stomach heaved.

Don't believe anyone who tells you that you can't throw up if you haven't eaten. They don't know what the hell they're talking about.

My dry heaves didn't stop until my sides cramped and I could barely breathe. I crawled away from the corner, my throat burning. What the hell had just happened?

I'm not sure how long I lay in that freezing, miserable dungeon, longing for either water or someone to come and put me out of my misery, before I heard footsteps. The door opened and I looked up to see an off-white blur – the program I'd named Tiger.

He crouched down by me, firm fingers grasping me by the chin and tilting my head a bit. "Hmmm… seems our visitor has had an adverse effect on you," he said, sounding amused. He released me and stood once more.

"What's your name, girl?"

I told him, and he chuckled. "I suppose you have an online handle?"

"Three," I answered softly. "On Matrix forums, I'm called Archangel."

He snorted softly, then ordered, "Get up, 'Archangel'." His tone twisted as he spoke the last word, mocking it.

Shakily, I obeyed, still weakened from my earlier bout of vomiting. One of his hands clamped down on my right bicep as he said, "Come with me, and keep quiet. If she sees me, I'm screwed." There was an undertone of worry in his voice – I'd hesitate to call it fear.

"She?" I wondered.

He didn't answer, all but dragging me out of my cell. I had to alter my stride to a half-jog to keep up with his pace. He paused at what seemed to be a corner, checking around it before going through.

He was muttering to himself as he walked; I could barely make out what he was saying.

"Third time this … personality-warping little … after them again … not themselves …"

A dark suspicion stirred in my mind, but I ignored it. There was no possible way…

_There was also no possible way for you to actually _be _in the Matrixverse…_, a small voice reminded me. I ignored it as well.

Only Tiger's hand clamping over my mouth prevented me from crying out when he suddenly slammed me against the wall, his other arm pinning me in place. "Not a sound," he growled into my ear. Scared, I obeyed; I could feel his breath against my cheek, harsh and ragged, as if he'd run a great distance.

He _was _frightened!

This scared me in turn; what in the _Château _was there for one of the Merovingian's men to fear? Apart from their Master and Mistress, I mean.

My ears then picked up a cheerful, female voice.

_The hell?_

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sound of Tiger's breathing and focused on the voice. I couldn't make out the words, but she was chatting animatedly with someone. I could tell it wasn't Persephone, however; this voice was slightly higher in pitch and lacked Persephone's accent. I heard an answering voice, male and British – a voice I knew well.

This girl was chatting with one of the Twins. And she wasn't dead.

Then I realised what the Twin was saying, and my blood ran cold. He was telling the girl that he and his brother didn't truly wish to work for the Merovingian… that they hated killing… that all they wanted was to leave.

My fear evaporated in a white-hot surge of anger. I knew who – or rather _what_ the girl was.

Only one sort of girl could frighten a program such as Tiger. Only one sort of girl could turn the frightening, sadistic Twins into little fluffy bunnies. Only one sort of girl could stir such a rage within my soul.

A Mary-Sue.


End file.
